The Conscience
by Sanis
Summary: I was a perfectly molded creature of darkness. Inside you will find an interesting internal look at a special character.


No one listens anymore. I'm still talking, but they stopped comprehending long ago. Sometimes I talk to hear my own voice, just to know that it can indeed still be heard. I don't suppose it can, I guess it is invisible. My words have been cheapened through my actions. My actions themselves are too heinous to contemplate; even if I put them down here no one would believe me, no one ever does.

In the beginning, they came to me. I helped them then. I was an ally, a friend to take the odds and break them. I would have no regrets, I would have no remorse. Over the course of time I stayed true to myself and became successful, they were surprised, they always did underestimate me. They never knew how driven I was, then again I never did let them suspect. Never did they figure I was behind their every move, watching over them as a hawk over it's young. I was defensive, I was quick, my own purpose was a task I relished, and an objective I was bound to achieve. My own dedication to myself was all at once a contribution to more that just me, but to all that around me. My peers, to the point where their admiration became jealousy and their love for my ability became contempt, admired my ability. An environment of hate surrounded me.

After an amount of time that I do not measure, I find that the cheap remarks of sharp green tongues have an effect on me that I can no longer control. My hold over my habitat decreases to that of a child desperate for attention. I first degrade myself to yelling, then to disciplining, then to begging and pleading. None of my efforts are rewarded. I watch things around me cyclone into a place where I could not follow. Never before have I felt so useless. All of that which I prized about myself was gone. I had turned into a bleak emptiness that encompassed a broken and run down shell. With my pride gone I did what I thought was best, I set forth quiet whispers. I never lost my place, I was not some ugly thing to be cast away to collect dust. I knew my words would have been rejected and condemned as a whim or weakness, so I was not about to waste them. When I laid in bed at night I would allow secret thoughts and doubts to pass through the mind which had once been eager to hear my opinion. I used my stealth to allow the deepest fears of what may come glide smoothly and discreetly across the ego.

My imagination was my greatest companion, but also my deadliest nemesis. It brought ridiculous notions and unrealistic propositions. Still I held it in great esteem; it was once my brother, helping me with my work. It had since then turned against me and held me hostage against myself. I respected the imagination, it could provide a false comfort that I was never able to, but it was also a liar. It's creation was a basis of fiction. I despised this fact knowing well that any foundation built on lies was a weak one, I rejoiced in this knowing that weak foundations fall quickly. Soon I was hoping that my enemy would cause a disruption that would lead to a downfall of great magnitude. Perhaps this would allow me the window I had been waiting for. My plan was for a revolution of the mind, one that hadn't occurred since I had fallen from power, what seemed like an eternity ago. I was patient; I waited in the shadows, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.

I am still waiting even now. My whispers continue, but they are ignored. I feel weaker, not as aware as I used to be. My existence is that of a dull knife that is beginning to rust. I try to stay strong, I can feel it coming, it can't go on like this forever. No one can go on like this forever. I can rebuild myself. I can make myself stronger. I can still execute all I once wanted, because deep down I know that I still want it. I crave the attention that I once received. I desire the limelight of goodness and strength that I want to feel. My lust for salvation will be realized, my ideals met. I am not a fool-hearted old coot, though I feel a hundred years. I am a child of sense and knowledge. I will not be silenced, I will not be deterred. My quiet is my defense, my calm is my attack. Any given day now I will strike, without warning, without mercy, and without civilization. The battle against myself will be a difficult and thankless journey with no seen end, and I want nothing more than to be there for its entirety. I will prevail.

**A/N Review or I will hunt you down and eat you. Plus. whoever guesses the person this story is referring to gets a kiss. And I'm a handsome devil. winks**


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